PS 




Depths and 
Shallows 



Sally Bruce Kinsolving 

The NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. 
I 9 * I 





Class JP S .3 5" a \ 
Book.. Lis^iXsXl 4- 



Copyright^ 



\q £ * \ 



CQEflRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



DEPTHS and SHALLOWS 



DEPTHS and SHALLOWS 



by 



SALLY BRUCE KINSOLVING 




BALTIMORE 

THE NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. 

MDCCCCXXI 



Copyright, 1921, by 
THE NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. 



^ 3 !n5iH 



*•:;-.» 






Printed in the United States of America 



FEB -7 1922 
©&A653763 



"U.A I 



To 

A. B. K, 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Pharos ...... i 

I Have Known Love ... 2 

Shell-Shock . . . . .3 

Waking .... . 4 

I Often Think of Helen . . .5 

A Single Star .... 6 

A Catacomb . . . . .7 

Day and Night .... 9 

Silk Stockings . . . .10 

Introspection . . . 11 

A Plea . . . .12 

Experience .... 13 

April I . . . . 14 

II 15 

III 16 

You Never Knew ... 17 

Night and Morning . . . . *8 

Requiem . . . . . 19 

Twilight . . . .21 

1791-1921 ..... 22 

Evening . . . . 23 

Regret ..... 24 

Lucinda Lee . . . 25 

Day Dreams . . . . . 26 
My Heart Is Steeped In Beauty . 28 

While Others Waked . • 2 9 

My City . . . . .30 



Contents 



PAGE 



Similitude ..... 31 

Love Asks Naught . . 32 
Enchantment . -33 

From My Window . . . -34 

Meeting .... 35 

Nocturne . . 36 

Words ..... 37 

Dusk . . . . . . 38 

The Quest ..... 39 

Pan-Pipes . . 41 

Waiting ..... 42 

Caprice . . . . -43 

Moonlight ..... 44 

On The Dock . . . -45 

Surge ..... 47 

Reverie . . . . . .48 

Song ..... 49 

The Midnight Moon . . . .50 

Untrammelled . . . . 51 

Escape . . . . . • 5 2 

A Mood S3 

A Protest . . -54 

Impression . .... 55 

Spirit Winds . . . . -51 

To J. L. W.Jr 58 

When You Are Tired Of The Day . 59 

Beyond The City Lights . . 60 



Contents 



PAGE 



Undertow . . . . .61 

The White Lilac ... 63 

Retrospect . . . 64 

Winter Night . . . . 6$ 

Compensation . . . . 66 

Beauty . . . 67 



PHAROS 

V^HETHER a waning moon 

In the quiet night, 
Offering up 
Her golden cup 

Of beauty in the hushed, warm dark 
To the rhythm of waves breaking, 
And small voices 
In low grasses 
Softly whispering; 
Or a deed of pity 
In a squalid city 
Street at noon — 
Moments of insight 
Born of these 

Are harbingers of safety and of peace: 
As unto mariners who embark 
At length to sail 

Through mist and fog, through storm and gale, 
Over unfamiliar seas, 
To lands far-off, unknown, . . . 
Lights that flash suddenly 
And are gone. 



i] 



I HAVE KNOWN LOVE 



I 



HAVE known love 
In all its depth and height, 
Its quick surprise at morning, 
Its wonder in the night. 
I have felt beauty since I was a child 
In dawn-steeped gardens 
Or in woodlands deep and wild. 
I have sought truth 
And found it on my way; 
Truth, beauty, love, — these cannot end with day. 



SHELL-SHOCK 

T TPON a narrow cot we found him lying 

And suddenly we knew that he was dying. 

"There are men all round about me here," he 

said, 

"Who plot and strive and seek to have me 

dead. 
"Be still and I will whisper now to one 
And you will hear him whistle back to me." 
Outside we heard the shrieking March wind groan. 
His eyes flashed triumph: "Listen, that is he." 



1.3 



WAKING 

AX/'HEN out of deep sleep, 

In the dark I am aware 
Of life, it seems to stare 
Me in the face 
With a horrible grimace, 
And envelope me 
With enshrouding mystery: 
But when I quickly 
Lift my spirit up in prayer, 
As if a child should seek its mother, there 
Within her arms 
To be quieted of vague alarms, 
I am enfolded in such peace 
As rests upon the sea 
When the winds cease. 



4i 



I OFTEN THINK OF HELEN 

T OFTEN think of Helen, 

Iseult and Guinevere, 
Of Francesca and of Heloise 
And others dead and fair. 
Did love, too, make them tremble, 
And did it make them wise, 
And did their cup 
Of love spring up 
With willing sacrifice? 



5] 



A SINGLE STAR 

A SINGLE star of pallid ray 

Alone appearing to our sight 
In isolated beauty, may 
Infuse into the soul with sudden might 
The wonder of the new resplendent day, 
The manifold wide mystery of night. 



6| 



A CATACOMB 

/^\UT of the noonday sunlit air 
^^^ Groped a weary traveller 
Led by monk in garb of brown, 
With uncertain steps adown 
A lengthy, winding stair 
Into subterranean halls. 
A candle near the old monk's hood 
Sputtered, while beside them stood 
Upright, caved, entombing walls, 
Of gruesome aspect which appalls, 
Yet with mystery enthralls 
A tired wanderer. 
Laid in dust on caved shelf 
With no bone left stark to stare, 
Gleaming like a miser's pelf 
Under the flickering candle, there 
Shone a woman's auburn hair . . . . 
She was young, and was she fair? 
W 7 as she tall and iris-white 
In the soft Italian night? 
Had she hyacinthine eyes, 
Thoughtful, deep, madonna-wise 



7] 



A Catacomb 

Like those framed in churches where 
Tapers on high altars flare? 
What was the destiny that flung 
Her in that ageless, open tomb, 
Imprisoned in such narrow gloom? 
Was she from proud nobles sprung? 
Did imperious, pagan emperor, 
Caught by glint of auburn tress 
Loose upon her Roman dress, 
Strive to foist his will upon her, 
While within her there uprose 
A mystic flame all lambent white 
In the soft Italian night; 
And insistent, then she chose 
The bold arena, gaping wide, 
That forever she might be 
The bride 
Of endless purity? 



DAY AND NIGHT 

AX/'HEN into depths of clear, translucent blue, 

At noon we gaze, 
The sun seems made to shine for you 
And me through never-ending days. 

But when in star-strewn night I stand alone 
With eager, searching, upturned face, 
I am an atom by the swift winds blown 
Through vast, illimitable space. 



[ 9 ] 



SILK STOCKINGS 

T WAS a child of five 

And sitting on a bed 
On a sleepy afternoon 
When I first heard of the dead. 
I was putting on my stockings, 
Which were silken, gold and red. 
They had come from California, 
My colored mammy said. 
Then she whispered to me softly, 

"Child, your grandmother is dead.' 
She had given me the stockings 
Which were silken, gold and red. 



TO 



INTROSPECTION 



V^HENCE this poignant keen unrest — 
Is it soul of the east or urge of the west 
Is it heaven or is it hell? 
I do not know, I cannot tell. 

A withering torch or a beckoning flame? 
A demon's thrall in battle strife 
Or the call of a saint in God's own name — 
A curse of death or a voice of life? 



1 1 



A PLEA 

COME love best long, leafy lanes, thick 

Overhead, and dewy grass bedecked with 
strawberries; 
Others, roses, like lovers climbing 
To the windows of sweet girls. . . . 
But give me instead, O April, 
Sloping hills spotted with dandelions, 
And orchards laden 
With pale, blossoming beauty; 
Red maple buds against the wide sky, 
Tawny and grey leaflets throbbing into life, 
The sudden green of the willow, 
A patch of emerald wheat, 
Forsythias in a blaze of glory, 
And strong winds blowing white clouds 
Athwart great gaps of blue. 



I 12 I 



EXPERIENCE 

YOUTH ha d reached 
The topmost stair 
Of life. 

Yet, as she looked around, 
So lightly poised in air, 
She had no otherwhere 
Togo, 

And she knew 
She must descend unto 
The ground. 
There, 

To her astonishment, she found 
Beneath her feet 

All things that she held most sweet; 
For guarded safely on the earth 
Are treasures of the greatest worth, 
That to every woman are 
Far dearer 
Than the glitter 
Of a star. 



13 



APRIL 

I 

k I H HE lamps of spring are shining 

On every windy hill; 
Her troth is newly plighted 
In gold of daffodil. 

To deck her for her bridal 

The orchards spread their bloom; 
With gifts of shimmering silver 

The mountain brooklets come. 

And when her lover hastens 
To greet her with delight, 

He will find her veiled in moonbeams 
Some witching April night. 



Hi 



II 



/^ OLD and green is April's dress 

As forth she fares in loveliness 
Across the meads of spring. 
Scarfs of silver mist she trails, 
Sombre boughs in gauze she veils, 
Over hills and deep in dales 
Violets loosely scattering. 



[15 



Ill 

VyiNTER miserly and old, 

His priceless treasure guards 
within the hold 
Of hidden coffers; 
But with what sudden largess 
Does the spring 
To wanton airs 
Her golden bounty fling ! 



.6| 



YOU NEVER KNEW 

X7DU never knew my heart 

Was crying out with pain 
Like a curlew calling 
In the cold, spring rain. 

You never knew my soul, 

Like a wild sea bird, 
Went roaming with the winds 

That the bell buoy heard. 

You never knew my spirit 
From pain first felt surcease, 

When crushed within your arms 
At last I found peace. 



NIGHT AND MORNING 

\X7HEN night with certain tread her way is 

making, 
She brings to us her old attendant care, 
But there's a sorrow with the morning's waking 
That is akin to utter, stark despair. 



REQUIEM 

tTYACINTHS and daffodils 

Fringing the grass 
Round the white crosses 
As we pass. 

Red buds and willow trees 

Painting the sky 
Where the thin cloud veils 

Float on high. 

Song-birds twittering 

In their delight, — 
Drooping black figures 

Draped like night: 

While men lower 

Into red clay 
Fragile pale beauty 

At close of day. 



19 



Requiem 

But hearken, Christian, 

Do not weep; 
Those we are leaving 

Are robed in sleep. 

See the earth waken 
Spring after spring 

The dead will arise 
For Christ is King. 



|20j 



TWILIGHT 

J HAVE left the woods behind me 

With all their silver song 
And rain-wet 

Fragrance. The evening bells 
Are pealing low along 
My way. Reluctantly 
I turn my face toward the city's roar, 
For soon I shall forget 
That peace dwells 
At her door. 



21 



1791-1921 

; I H HE house I live in once stood near 

A leafy, winding, shady lane, 
Where lilacs and sea-scented air 
Were woven into April rain: 

Though now within a city street 
Determined trolleys pass its door, 

And motors with insistent beat 

Stride blatantly with shriek or roar: 

Where gay attire applauds the spring 
And May is marked by berry criers, 

W 7 hile gas wells noxious odors fling 
In air begrimed by factory fires. 



[22] 



EVENING 

^\ VIOLET boles of beeches 

In the late sunlight, 
Shadows lengthening across 
The golden hill; 
Little birds softly fluting 
Their songs of night, 
Leaves forbearing to whisper, 
Breathless, still; 
Deep is the draught of beauty, 
Drink, oh drink at your will. 



23 



REGRET 

' I 4 HE beauty I have left unsung 

Comes back to sting me now with pain, 
As if pearls too lightly strung 
Had slipped into the sea again. 

O life, could you but give to me 
The blossoms of forgotten springs, 

And all delight I've burned to see 
Long borne away on swallows' wings. 



[2 4 ] 



LUCINDA LEE 

T.JER eyes are like grape hyacinths 

The market woman sells, 
Her lips are threads of coral 
That grow among sea-shells. 

Her moods are as the colors 

That flit upon the sea, 
Her mind with depths and shallows 

Is compact of poetry. 

But when her little white arms 
Around my neck entwine, 

I know it is her love 

That makes her only mine. 



U5 



DAY DREAMS 

Vl^HEN on a city street, and listening 
To the English sparrows squawk 
Their drab and carking care, 
My spirit runs away 
To the succulent May 
Meadows, where 
Musical birds are singing, 
Delirious with joy. 
There 

I strive to tell 

Whether it is wild-rose, grape or honeysuckle 
That stabs me 

With indefinable fragrances .... 
And when 
Again in the city, 
I look up at telegraph poles, 
I shut my eyes and see 
Tall trees waving their branches — 
Oaks and beeches and lindens — 
And hear them whispering 
Secrets of old time, 

When Indian maidens, lithe and supple 
As the arrows their lovers sped 



[26 



Day Dreams 

At the wild game, found 

Tryst where bracken, moss and fern are spread 

In the warm and passionate beauty 

Of the May days .... 

And then, 

When the dust in city byways 

Chokes me, and its grime 

Besoils my fingers, I hear the sound 

Of waters trickling 

From streams that startle 

The still rocks of deep glens, 

And run away mockingly, 

Refusing to be 

Caught or held or bound. 



2 7 



MY HEART IS STEEPED IN BEAUTY 

MY heart is steeped in beauty, 

• For I have known pain, 
And cypress trees and moonlight are 

Attendant in her train. 

I watch the children dancing 

Upon a sunlit hill, 
But they cannot feel beauty 

Approaching them until 

Their heads are bowed with weeping 

Like lilies in the rain .... 
My heart is steeped in beauty, 

For I have known pain. 



28 



WHILE OTHERS WAKED 

^/HILE others waked I slept,— 
Now while they sleep I sing 
Alone in the night 

To my heart's comforting. 

I sing of men in cities 

And lonely ships at sea, 
With only white waves 

To bear them company. 

I sing of moonlit gardens 

And silent fields of dew, 
But oh, by night as in the day, 

I chiefly sing of you. 



29 



MY CITY 

T NEVER dreamed that I could sing 

Until I came to live in you; 

What was it that could sharply sting 

My silence into shape and hue? 

I thought that I had found content 
In love and laughter, work and play; 

But April after April went, 

And left me brick-bound day by day. 

But you are girdled with the spring, 
And over your roofs on summer nights, 

Beauty, while her censers swing, 

Blends her perfumes with your lights. 



30 



SIMILITUDE 

T THINK 

Of a poet 
As of a reed by a river's brink, 
Shaken with each wind that blows, 
Sharing the secret 
Of wild iris or of meadow rose, 
Trembling to the singing of a bird 
When before dawn but one alone has stirred; 
Startled to see 
The shrunken yellow moon 
Rising above the near 
Rim 

Of the world, in the clear 
Blue night; 
Or the first stripe 
Of red 

Staining the dim, 

Drab east before the morning's light, . . . 
Saturate with beauty, 
Then vibrant with music, 
As a shepherd's pipe. 



[31 



LOVE ASKS NAUGHT 

T OVE asks naught when it is love 

But the flame of its own fire, 
All content itself to prove, . . . 
Hurt with infinite desire: 

Thus the rainbow to the sea, 
Mirrored in a depth of blue, 

Burning with an endless beauty 
In its irridescent hue. 



1 32 1 



ENCHANTMENT 

TSLAND of mystery 

And dreams, 
Set in a western sea, 
My spirit leaps too sluggardly 
To catch the sudden gleams 
Of your swift moods, that flee 
With all the winds that blow; 
For but an hour ago 
You were a place of light, 
With tangled blooms of blackberry 
Spreading their veils of white .... 
And now the fog drifts quickly 
Across the fields of night, 
While myriad golden fireflies, 
Darting their eerie beams, 
Give to me the fancy 
That you are a haunt of fay, 
Until I hear in rise 
And fall the dashing of the spray. 



33 



FROM MY WINDOW 

A GENTLE rustle 
'^ That I hear, 
Tells me lightly 
Trees are near; 
Not as in a forest, 
Tall 

And stately, 
But familiar, small, 
Where a bird 
May sit sedately, 
Snugly hidden in her nest, 
While outside with painted wings, 
Boldly her little lover sings 
Unto her a madrigal. 
Then I, too, keep 
Early vigil 
W 7 hile others still 
Are fast asleep, 

And sing, unheard, a roundelay, 
To the fair returning day. 



34 



MEETING 

SOME meet within walled gardens 
And others on a lea; 
But you and I within the mind 
Discover unity. 

I would not have you touch my hand, 

Or faithless be 
To any loyalty. 

I am content to find you where 

The morning sunlight paints the sea. 

Or high up in the evening air 
The new moon lifts her purity. 



[3; 



NOCTURNE 

' I H HE moon pours out a silver stream 

Across my quiet room to-night; 
Ah, would that I could ever dream 
Within her chambers of delight. 
Never to see the sun again, 
Or gaudy color night defies, 
But to walk in gardens where 
In the fragrant, moonlit air 
White blossoms shed their secrecies. 
And though no nightingale might tell 
Her old-world passion or her pain, 
I know that in my heart would swell 
The minor chords of symphonies, 
Making the argent air resound 
With miracle of silver sound 
In long-remembered ecstasies. 



[36] 



WORDS 

OOMETIMES, like the wind 

In the trees, 
With such a sudden gust 
The words come, that I must 
Hasten to write them down, 
Lest they 
Be blown away. 

Again leisurely, half tauntingly, 
They come and go, 
As a ball 

Tossed to and fro 
Lightly on a summer's day . . . , 
And then — 
Not a sound I hear, 
And suddenly I fear 
That I may 
Never again, 
Even falteringly, 
Say the things I long to say. 



[37] 



DUSK 

A TIMID little silver moon 
Was sailing forth abreast 
The broken waves of fleecy cloud 
Upon the purple west; 
While you and I within 
A fragile skiff afloat, 
W 7 ere listening to the music 
The water-spirits made, 
With their lapping, lapping, lapping 
On the surface of our boat, 
And our feathered oars were dripping 
As we drifted, and they played. 

But soon the artist night 
Had stained the sky with black, 
And turned the moon from silver into gold; 
Yet slowly moving homeward 
Upon her gleaming track 
We were loath to leave the seas, 
And the quiet, dreamy music 
The water-spirits made, 
With their lapping, lapping, lapping, 
For behind the inky trees 
The golden moon was slipping, 
And in the dusky shallows still the water- 
spirits played. 



38 



THE QUEST 

r\ SILENT, white, high-masted ship, 
How quietly you lie 

At anchor, with your limp sails hung 

Against the soft grey sky; 

And lightly as the fall 

Of a long forgotten snow, 

Returning to the mind in dream. 

Calm, immovable you seem, 

And can it be 

That you again 

Will heavily 

Heave to and fro 

Storm-tossed upon a distant sea? 

And will you touch at ports where 

Tempting fruits hang low, 

Within the bronze-hued grasp of indolent men, 

While in the moist, scented air, 

Brilliant birds fluant their plumes 

Amid the hot, red 

Tropic blooms 

That stain the dark of forest glooms, 

Thick-tangled overhead? 

Then you will fill your hold, 

Empty, clean-gutted, lean, 

With luscious freight of shining gold, 

And coffees, and rare spices, 



39 



Whose aromatic smell 

The northern sense entices; 

While through the masts of swaying ships 

Come beckoning tones from vermeil lips 

Of the dark-eyed girls who dwell 

Where southern seas still cast their spell . . . 

But lo, what happens as I speak — 

The light wind fills your sails again, 

Now hurry fore and aft your men; 

Your anchors lift, your taut ropes creak, 

Your unleashed prow strains forth with zest, 

Driven by the compelling west; 

While you once more unfettered, free, 

Proudly ride the welcoming sea, 

And round the cape, with sails full-blown, 

To new adventure you are gone. 



40 



PAN-PIPES 

T HAVE sometimes felt in forests 

When the dank earth strong with mould 
Seized my spirit like a lover, 
And gripped me with its hold, 
I would gladly lay my body 
In the warm, sweet-scented ground, 
To be wrapped around with fern fronds 
And with tangled violets bound. 



41] 



WAITING 

/^\H, the agony 
Of women 
Living near the sea, 
Watching at home 
For those who do not come, 
With only 
Mystery 
And silence 
To bear them company. 



4^1 



CAPRICE 

AX^HAT a wanton thing your heart is, fleeing 

Love and his swift shadow, 
Like a sunbeam in a meadow, 
While soft clouds are blowing. 

But someday you will turn demurely, 

When he commands you, 
And like a white flower limp with dew, 

Within his hold will rest securely. 



[43 



MOONLIGHT 

V\/ r HAT magical mystery of light is here, 

Touching every leaf and blade 
With silver, save where 
The blackened shade 
Paints the deep glade? 
It can change 
All 

That is familiar, 
Even commonplace, 
Into what is beautiful and strange. 
The bare, white face 
Of the town hall 
Now wears a semblance 
As of marble made, 
And one may fancy 
That one sees 
A staid 
And stately 

Chateau rising between tall trees, 
Within a land of fleur-de-lys .... 
Then it washes out the heavens 
With such glory, 

That only stars of ancient rhyme or story 
Dare to shine within its presence, 
And now meekly 
They surrender 
All their sovereignty 
To unwonted splendor. 

[44] 



ON THE DOCK 

/ I A HE noonday water 

■*- Like green and slippery 
Serpents, lay coiled around 
The high-piled dock. 
Within the dingy 
Warehouse there 
Was not a sound 
Of human voice, but stacks 
Of dirty, printed sacks 
Of winter food 
For island cattle 
Now grazing sleepily 
Upon velvet downs. 
Outside were orange-painted kegs 
Emptied of melliflous frozen cream, 
Walled like tropic fruit 
In gaudy color 
Against the sea. 

Three men nearby were lounging 
Lazily 

Upon a coal barge, blowing 
Their rings of smoke 
Toward the sun. 
Small boys with dangling 
Feet were sitting 
On the dock and poking fun 
At daring gulls, that 

[45] 



On the Dock 

With sudden swerve 

And avid leap, were plunging 

Downward, dragging 

Little fish into 

The upper air; 

Or watching silently 

Until some home returning ship 

Should boldly rip 

The wrinkled satin 

Of the harbor sea. 



4 6 



SURGE 

TNCOMING waves now stripe the sea 

Along the gently sloping beach; 
I watch them as they melt away, 
Each quickly overtaking each. 

Thus with the years of human life, 
That in such quick succession send 

A little froth, tumult and strife, 

Love, sorrow, peace, . . . and then the end. 



47 



REVERIE 

IV/TY purple hills, do you 

Still sharply cut the pale goldskies 
At evening into 

The jagged line of amaranth hue 
That 1 once loved? And are the quiet lakes yet 
Nestled at your feet, 

While in the darkened forest, fir trees rise, 
Where rapturous thrushes pour from silver 

bells 
Unrivalled sound, with wild anguish sweet, 
Into the deep wet 
Fragrance of fern dells ? 



4 8 



A ; 



SONG 

S the foam is to the sea 
Breaking forth exultantly; 
As the morning star to dawn 
Over some dusk-scented lawn, . . . 
You are to me. 

Life and duty round me close 
While the dull time comes and goes- 
You are then its poetry. 

As the red that burns the west, 
Leaps to flame within my breast, 
You are but an ecstasy. 



[49 



THE MIDNIGHT MOON 

t^AR away are the stars, 

But the watchful moon 
Sees the hills sloping down to the dusky bay, 
While the young waves sing and clap their hands 
In the shining pools of the quiet sands, 
Adorned in feathery spray. 
She listens alone 
To the orchestras 
Through the dark forever at play; 
She guards the silent, white ships that pass 
On their lingering, coastwise way, 
Till folded in harbors of sleeping towns 
Like sheep that are gathered from fragrant downs, 
Like sheep at the end of day; 
And only at intervals now and then 
Is her watch espied by mortal men. 



5o 



UNTRAMMELLED 

^"pHE children laugh and play and sing 

L T pon the beach at noon, 
While careful nurses wait to bring 
Them home from play too soon : 

But there is one small elfin maid 
Who, when the rest are gone, 

Still ever boldly unafraid 
In careless mirth plays on. 

She steps into the shallow pools 
Throughout the shining day, 

And startles little fish in schools 
That circle in their play; 

Free as the wind that crests the wave, 

Or any lone sea bird 
That haunts the cliffs wild waters lave, 

Remote from human word. 

Oh, happy child, so blithely free 
While trammelled hosts are gone, 

Alone with earth and sky and sea 
In careless mirth play on. 



[5 



ESCAPE 

T AM tired of their chatter 
-*- And their talk of things, things, 
And I seek alone the salt wave 
Where the day springs. 

While the morning sea is breaking 
On the clean, washed sand, 

And the pied flowers are making 
A garden of the land. 

And there I lie and dream 

With the sunlight on my brow, 

While I wonder if you too 
Are dreaming now. 



is* 



A MOOD 

CULTRY and hot was the night, 

Dimly and pale shone the moon 
Through the soft heat haze, 
When suddenly, as hounds from the leash, 
Sprang the winds 

As if from the four corners of heaven. 
Howling and moaning they came, 
Lashing the sea into foam, 
Sweeping the glens with their might. 
Like witches they seemed, at a feast; 
Distorted, mis-shapen, malign, evil fore- 
boding. 

"In spite of September's flower-wreathed 

face," 
I heard them say, 

"Summer is gone, winter now is at hand, 
Bringing her friends, 
Hunger and cold, disease and death." 



[53] 



A PROTEST 

TN the dust of my travel 

-^ I think of the bay 

With its immaculate waters, 

And flowers and sedge, 

Like the purple 

And gold of heather and furze 

Staining the brown 

Of the hills sloping down 

To its edge. 

And I wonder if you too 

Rebel 

When you see 

The grime and dirt 

Brought by those who dwell 

In cities, careless and inert 

Of smirch and soil, . . . 

Eager alone in their toil 

For wealth, 

Forgetting man's true self 

And his unquenchable 

Thirst for beautv. 



54] 



IMPRESSION 

T IKE a shaft of light upon a prism sundered, 
Falling on the pages of my open book 
In a shower of rays, scintillating, darting, 
Suddenly there breaks your well-remembered 
look. 

First in quiet depths, like autumn pools at 

evening, 
It dares to plumb the mystery of life and death; 
Then it sparkles like the snow in Alpine sunlight 

gleaming, 
With the early morning's opalescent breath. 

It is attuned to magic woodland ways and 

whispers, 
It dances with the light and dark of silvery 

beechen shade, 
It softens with the droning of bees in scented 

clovers 
On the sloping hillside or in open glade. 

It wakens the echo of the measured cadence 
Across the moonlit hollows of the salt, far-sound- 
ing sea, 
Beating endless mu*ic into listening caverns 
Of old-world sorrows and others vet to be. 



55 



Impression 

Not foreign to its steady, slowly burning fires, 

The thought of incense-laden, languorous tropic 
nights, 

Yet dominant in expression, it is mystical, in- 
tangible, 

Like flaming altar candles or far-off northern 
lights. 



[56 



SPIRIT WINDS 

OPIRIT winds blow over me 
^ And they are not unkind, 
Yet they make a strange place 
Of my mind. 

I have waked this morning 
To find it swept and bare 

Of every ardent feeling 
I have known there. 

Autumn's varied pageant, 
Or spring's first timid flower, 

Brings to me no color 
In this hour. 

Even when I think of you 

I am cold still, 
As the glittering crust of snow 

On a lone hill. 



57 



TO J. L. W., JR. 

VyHEN recently 

You passed before us on the prow 
Of your frail 
Boat, with sail 

Outstretched behind you, returning 
Home upon a summer sea, 
The morning sunlight resting 
On your brow, 
And burnishing 
Your hair to gold, 
Who could have then foretold 
Your passing now? 
And yet, 

All clothed in shining white, 
Your body like a thing of light 
Seemed charged with strange, unearthl) 

purity, 
When, indelible as an impress set 
Upon an ancient Grecian, urn, 
Age-long youth and beauty met 
In your return. 



1 58 



WHEN YOU ARE TIRED OF THE DAY 

WHEN you are tired of the day 
And all its dull, grey commonplace, 

I like to feel in dreams you may 
Sometimes see my face; 

And think of me with poetry, 
Or evening light upon the hills, 

With morning breaking on the sea 
And all that in your soul instils 

A deeper, livelier feeling .... 

That thus amid your hurrying stress, 
I may, with radiance o'er you stealing, 

Dispel your weariness. 



59] 



BEYOND THE CITY LIGHTS 

T3EYOND the city lights 
■*-* The stars are dimly shining, 
Like unhappy ghosts 
Alone and repining. 

I think of island fields 

Grey-green with moonbeams, 
And of midnight waters breaking 

On the shores of my dreams. 

But far off as the stars — 
Oh, farther than the sea — 

In my loneliness of spirit 
You seem now to be. 



60 



UNDERTOW 

"T TPON the dim, veiled threshold of my life 

I listened to a nocturne, while without 
In darkness, over wild, out-jutting cliffs, 
The passionate, strong waves beat ceaselessly. 
I felt entranced by witchery of sound, 
For in the music's rapturous cadences 
Were strange, sweet whisperings of joys un- 
dreamed, 
And yet, recurrent, haunting notes of pain 
And sorrow, wailed through plaintive minor 

chords 
Like sad, tumultuous, pealing echoes from 
The ever sobbing, human-hearted sea. . . . 

Many years are gone, and once again 
I listen to the nocturne, now beside 
The blue and copper of a wood fire's burning; 
And while I dream, the music's harmonies 
In my own life all seem fulfilled, with here 
And there an undertone of sadness, but 
Ever uppermost the joy. And yet, 
While restless waves of northern seas are far 
Away, my thoughts fly forward to the 
Ocean of eternity. But still, with such 
A calm as that which broods on cool, grey sands 
At evening, when gleaming jewels shine 
And sparkle through the ever-curling spray, 
As if some casket from the fabled east 



61] 



Undertow 

Had lent its splendor to the alluring sea, 
And distant sails high-colored from the west 
Lie strewn in paths of light, — in confidence 
I rest in that great Power 
Who rules the mighty waters at His will. 



62 



THE WHITE LILAC 

T GAZED upon a shower of wet, 

White bloom, 
Against a wall 
Of living 
Green, 

And felt the thrill 

Of silent growing things that spring 
From out the sheer depths of unseen 
Eternal beauty: 
Yet 

An artist's room, 
Grey with December's chill, 
Approaching night, 

My vision bound. The rapture that en- 
thralled me 
Rose from master strokes of life and light 
Irradiating all 
The twilight's gloom. 



63 



RETROSPECT 

^V7DU came to me so young and strong, 

So bold and free, 
You swept the tides of youth along 
As the west wind sweeps the sea. 

Together we have met life fearlessly, 
Much have we dared; 
Whatever yet may be, 
Gladlv we have fared. 



6 4 



WINTER NIGHT 



"DOLDLY astride the winter night 

Stands Orion, armed and bright, 
As of old in Syrian skies, 
Watched by Job with wondering eyes. 



[65 



COMPENSATION 

AX/'HEN I think of the verse I have left 

unsaid, 
And the many books I have not read, 
I am seized with dismay, 
For so much of life has burned away. 

But when I recall? the moment after? 
The merry lips and happy laughter 
That have flamed each day, 
I am glad of life's insistent way. 



66 



BEAUTY 

"DEAUTY, you are inviolate, . . . 
I cannot clasp you as my own: 
I am content to consecrate 
My soul to vou, unknown. 



6 7 



